


come and find me (lying in the bed I made)

by niennathegrey



Series: the short stuff [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreamsharing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Force Bond (Star Wars), Happy Ending, No Pregnancy, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, not TROS-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25016401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niennathegrey/pseuds/niennathegrey
Summary: By day, Rey meditates and trains and takes her meals with the Resistance. By all accounts, she is a shining beacon of hope, as befits the last Jedi.At night, Rey dreams of the meadow, and the cottage — and always, always, Ben.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: the short stuff [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658749
Comments: 63
Kudos: 205
Collections: A Rey by Any Other Name, Comfort Gems 2020, Reylo Hidden Gems





	come and find me (lying in the bed I made)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frak-all (or_ryn)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/or_ryn/gifts).



> Written for House Reysistance's "A Rey by Any Other Name" event. It ended up being more _inspired by_ the moodboard than actually related to it, but I hope you enjoy it anyway, frak! :)
> 
> The title is from the _Hadestown_ song, "Flowers."
> 
> Speaking of which, if you like listening to music as you read, I recommend listening to [ the Off-Broadway version of "Promises,"](https://youtu.be/kA1wixXHKow) another _Hadestown_ song and one I had on loop while writing this fic. 

Slowly but surely, after the decimation of the Battle of Crait and the mad scramble to find a safe place to regroup ( _to hide like cornered womp-rats_ , whispers a niggling voice in the back of Rey’s mind that she does her best to ignore), the tattered remnants of the Resistance fall into some semblance of a routine.

Rey is no exception — though, being the last Jedi, her routine is somewhat different from everyone else’s. 

In the mornings she meditates for an hour. Then she reads the Jedi texts and tries valiantly to make heads or tails of the ancient tenets. Then, after lunch in the mess with everyone else (trying and mostly succeeding to filter out the snatches of awe mixed with curiosity that spill over into the Force whenever people come too close to her), she practices lightsaber forms, demolishes training droids, and runs the gauntlet through the jungles of Ajan Kloss under General Organa’s watchful eye. Ideally, it’s supposed to tire her out enough to sleep deeply and dreamlessly shortly after dinner (an affair spent much the same way as lunch). 

Simple. Easy.

Less simple and easy is the way the Force, in its questionable wisdom — or perhaps its exquisite cruelty — continues to connect her and Ben — no, _Kylo Ren_ now, _that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it?_

There’s no regularity to his appearances, seemingly no rhyme or reason. One day she feels him, his presence as supple and dark as velvet, brush up against her in the Force as she meditated. Then he disappears for around two standard weeks, only to reappear on the other side of the mess that evening at dinner. But then after that, it only takes a day for him to manifest just slightly to the right of one of her droids as she trained. And then a month of nothing, broken when he appears in her quarters as she tosses and turns, body exhausted and mind buzzing. 

Sometimes he’s only there for the briefest of moments, blinking out of sight before Finn or Rose can ask her what she’s staring at. Other times he stays long enough for the silence to grow thick and uncomfortable.

What _is_ constant is the way he looks at her. He never speaks, but— _stars_ , he doesn’t need to. His eyes have always been the most eloquent part of him anyway. They rest on her with a weight all their own, and the bond pulses thick with all the things he’s too proud to say, all the things he hates himself for thinking.

_Talk to me._

_Look back at me._

_Please._

Rey can be constant too. So she throws walls up between them, as bright and shining and cold as the Light he’s forsaken, and turns her back on him. Every time. 

She ignores the dull weight of regret (hers or his?) in her chest whenever she does. 

It’s routine. 

One night, Rey dreams of a field.

There is rich, loamy earth and springy turf under her back. Tall stalks of grass, crowned with blooms of all colors and shapes, sway in her vision. She reaches up to touch the large, spade-shaped petals of a purple flower bobbing just above her head. It’s soft underneath her fingers, and Rey smiles. 

There’s a rustle of movement at the edge of the clearing. The bond stirs, like a skittish animal peering out from its burrow. Slowly, Rey raises herself on her elbows.

Kylo's cape and heavy, quilted tunic are gone; he stands at the edge of the meadow in a loose sleep shirt and pants — still dark and nondescript, but a few shades shy of pure black. His hands are bare, and the sunlight gilds his rumpled hair. 

She’s seen him with even _less_ clothing on than this, but somehow he looks younger and more vulnerable than ever before. Unbidden, something soft and warm unfurls within her chest, and she turns her head and closes her eyes against it. Her fingers curl around the grass at her feet. 

“We share dreams now?” she asks with forced nonchalance.

“It would appear so.” He sounds closer now, though she hasn’t heard him move. “Rey—”

Her fingers clench, and the stalks of grass come free from the earth. She briefly considers throwing them in his face, and opens her eyes to aim properly. Then she freezes, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of Kylo kneeling before her less than an arm’s length away. This close, she can see all the shades of brown and gold and amber that the sunlight shows in his eyes.

This close, she wants to just… _let go_ — to let down her walls, to scream and cry and plead until she can breathe without the weight of words unspoken. And why shouldn’t she? If this is just a dream, and nothing will change come morning— 

— ah, and _there’s_ the rub. He’s so close, and his eyes are so soft and warm on her, and none of this is real, and _stars_ , she wishes it were. 

“I can’t,” she whispers, as much to him as to herself. A single tear slips down her cheek. 

He looks stricken, and his mouth works like he’s physically swallowing the words of comfort that rise instinctively to the tip of his tongue. _Don’t cry_ , she feels more than hears him murmur through the bond. Then— quieter, but even weightier: _I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry._

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his hand come up, then hover awkwardly beside her head. He wants to reach for her, to wipe her tears away, but knows he has no right to do it, to touch her so softly. 

It’s the hut on Ahch-To all over again — the same yearning for touch, the same hesitant gentleness of Ben Solo peeking out from behind the shattered mask of Kylo Ren. If she’ll only ever have this — _him_ — in dreams— 

Well, Rey’s used to taking what she can get, grabbing onto it with both hands. 

She leans her cheek against his waiting palm, her eyes fluttering shut as she hears Kylo’s— _Ben’s_ shaky exhale. 

Rey walks through the field — not aimlessly; she knows, in the instinctive way of dreams, that she’s supposed to go somewhere, and that she’ll know it when she gets there. Ben walks beside her, close enough that she could reach out and take his hand.

If this is a dream, then there’s not much else to do but ride it out until she wakes up. So she focuses instead on the walk, the sunlight, the field. She’s never seen so many colors before. Reds, yellows, blues, pinks, purples and whites all stand bright against the green grass. A cluster of particularly bright yellow flowers catches her attention; she bends down to pluck one, idly twirling it by the stem. 

She wishes she could stay here forever. 

The bond hums like a plucked string, the resulting vibration low and warm. When she glances over at Ben, she sees that same warmth in his eyes and fights back a blush. _What?_

_I would’ve given you flowers,_ Ben thinks — a little petulant, but more wistful than anything. _I would’ve built entire cities of hothouses, filled them with every flower in the galaxy. I would’ve built you a palace on the greenest world we could find._

Since they’re sharing confidences— since it’s all a dream anyway— Rey feels bold enough to face him and tell him what she’s wanted to say all these months. “I don’t want cities or palaces. I never did. I wanted _you_ , Ben.” She smiles sadly. “Just you.” 

Ben’s lips part, and his eyes shine wetly in the sunlight. 

They find the cottage shortly after that. It’s small and sturdy, and _rustic_ in the truest sense of the word, with unvarnished planks for walls and ivy creeping up beside the door. As Rey looks at it, she knows this is where the dream has been leading. It feels _right,_ in a way she doesn’t have words for — standing in this verdant meadow, Ben beside her, this house beckoning them to enter. 

She looks at Ben. 

He nods once, his dark eyes full of tremulous, fragile hope. 

She reaches out to turn the knob— 

— and opens her eyes to the bare walls of her quarters on Ajan Kloss. 

The weight in her chest is— not gone, but lightened enough that she can breathe easier.

Rey smiles. 

It becomes part of her routine. 

By day, Rey meditates and trains and takes her meals with the Resistance. By all accounts, she is a shining beacon of hope, as befits the last Jedi. 

At night, Rey dreams of the meadow, and the cottage — and always, always, Ben. 

The cottage is a house of dreams, in more ways than one. 

One night, a bedroom appears, the bed _just_ big enough for the two of them, Rey sees at a glance. Although, given Ben’s size, it might still be a tight fit — and _stars_ , but the thought of being pressed up tight against Ben makes her heart skip a beat and her thighs clench. She’s acutely aware of the warmth of him behind her. She shivers when he murmurs, “Rey,” his voice gone low and rough. 

(The bed is, in fact, big enough to fit them both, but Rey snuggles into Ben’s side anyway.)

Another night, Rey finds both the meadow and the cottage empty, and the bond taut with effort. Brow furrowing, she follows it behind the cottage. Ben stands in the shallows of the small lake, pants rolled up to his knees and a look of utmost concentration on his face. As Rey watches, bewildered, he bends down and comes back up again in the blink of an eye, something small, silvery, and wriggling clutched in one hand. 

It’s so unexpected a sight that she calls aloud, “Ben?”

He startles, and whatever was in his hand twists free and falls back into the water with a pointed _plop_. He huffs quietly and runs his other hand through his hair, raking the damp locks back. Then he looks at her and says, “I was trying to catch fish. For lunch.”

It’s so _incongruous_ , truly the stuff of dreams — the Supreme Leader of the First Order trying to catch fish with his bare hands. Ben seems to realize it too, and he looks so sheepish that Rey can’t help giggling. His shoulders hunch up to his ears, but soon enough he joins her. His laugh is deep and resonant — mirthful enough that his dimples appear and his lips part to show his adorably crooked teeth. 

_He’s beautiful_ , Rey thinks, and her heart twists with a sharp longing. 

These are sweet dreams, and she supposes she should be grateful. But frankly, she’s _tired_ of just taking what she can get. She wants to walk with Ben in the sun of the waking world, to steal away with him to some quiet and verdant backwater moon, to build their house of dreams and fall into their bed exhausted by a day’s honest work. She wants this to _be real_ , more than she’s ever wanted anything before. 

Ben feels all of this in the bond. His laughter quiets, and he looks at her with solemn eyes. _It will be_ , _sweetheart_ , he answers. _I promise._

First, however, the war must end — and it does.

Oh, it takes a while, certainly — one defection, months of suspicious looks and whispers on base, and nearly two years of toppling both the First Order’s main army _and_ their splinter cells, to be precise.

But yes, the war _does_ end; and as soon as Leia disbands the Resistance, Rey and Ben board the _Millennium Falcon,_ the hold full of unvarnished wood, and set a course for the quietest, greenest moon they can find.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Tumblr: [niennathegrey](https://niennathegrey.tumblr.com/)


End file.
